Finding Myself in Hawkins

Written By: Samantha Munevar

Photograph taken by Ralph Werczynski

With the latest Stranger Things trailer released and the L.A. premiere set for November 6th, the same day Will Byers went missing, I’ve been thinking about why this series means so much to me and to millions of others.

I’ve always been an old soul that’s into vinyls, classic rock, and the ‘80s. My favorite band is Queen, so when the trailer used “Who Wants to Live Forever,” it hit me hard. I first watched the show in the summer of 2020 during the pandemic. I didn’t expect comfort from a story about kids fighting monsters, but it became my escape when the world felt uncertain. 

It wasn’t the Demogorgon, neon colors, or Eleven’s powers that hooked me– it was the heart. Beneath the retro details, it showed kids who were lonely, weird and scared, yet brave enough to keep going. It celebrated people who didn’t fit in. Stranger Things explores friendship, loss, and redemption, and what it means to hold on when everything feels upside down. It also challenges nostalgia by confronting real issues– trauma, identity and corruption.

What makes Stranger Things stand out isn’t just who we see, but how they’re written. Dustin Henderson, a boy with cleidocranial dysplasia, is never defined by it. The show doesn’t make it a joke or a sob story. He’s funny, brilliant, and often the brains of the operation. Then there’s Lucas Sinclair, a Black kid in Hawkins who faces pressure to fit in. Instead of being reduced to a comedic side character, he’s loyal and grounded, showing that growing up means balancing friendship with identity.

Another standout is Robin Buckley, a closeted lesbian introduced in Season 3. She represents queer people in a way that feels real. Her coming out scene wasn’t about shame or tragedy– it was about honesty and trust. When she told Steve about her crush on Tammy Thompson, he didn’t judge her– he accepted her. That simple acceptance feels rare, especially for a show set in the ‘80s. The show doesn’t push her queerness aside; instead, it gives her a female love interest in Season 4. She’s not reduced to “Steve’s gay best friend;” instead, she’s portrayed as smart and sarcastic, a character irresistibly easy to root for.

One character who really stayed with me is Max Mayfield, a skater girl from California. Introduced in Season 2, she is tough, closed off and refuses to let anyone define her. But behind the sarcasm lies deep pain. Max faces emotional abuse from her stepbrother, Billy, who later dies saving her. Instead of feeling relief, she feels guilt and depression. Max reminded me that strength isn’t about being okay all the time. Her escape from Vecna to “Running Up That Hill” is unforgettable–a fight against her own demons and a testament to her will to survive.

The real reason Stranger Things sticks with people is that it brings us closer together. People see themselves in these characters. I’ve made friends through this show– like my online best friend, Aurora, a writer. We’ve spent hours talking about the characters, especially Steve Harrington, a former bully who learns from his mistakes and becomes a brother figure to Dustin. His selflessness, charm and humor make him one of the show’s most beloved characters. 

Shows like this don’t just entertain– they inspire. My original characters have arcs that echo the show’s themes: outcasts facing their own monsters. The Duffer Brothers inspired me to be a writer–to share stories that make people feel the way Stranger Things made me feel: seen, moved and a little less alone.

The show may be ending, but its impact will last forever.